


Parley

by LoveActuallyFan



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Pirates of the Caribbean Fusion, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst and Porn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bandits & Outlaws, Biting, Cover Art, Digital Art, Digital Painting, Father/Son Incest, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Illustrated, Incest, Inspired by Pirates of the Caribbean, Kinky, M/M, Parent/Child Incest, Pirates, Pistols, Porn With Plot, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Rum, Shameless Smut, Smut, Swords, Tortuga, bandit!Thranduil, banditking, pirate!Legolas, pirateprince, sucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:32:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LoveActuallyFan/pseuds/LoveActuallyFan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Legolas has run away from home, the bandit-infested forest of Mirkwood, to become a pirate. He wants to make his own name, away from his father and his bandit horde, but eventually his past catches up with him in the port town of Tortuga.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Parley

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ofplanet_earth](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/gifts).



> ***straps on an eye-patch***
> 
> So, this idea has been floating around in my head for a while. I very much hope that you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it and creating the cover art! <3
> 
> This is for [ofplanet_earth](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ofplanet_earth/pseuds/ofplanet_earth), as a congratulatory present for finishing [30 Days of Barduil](http://archiveofourown.org/series/346025)! Well done!!
> 
> My inspiration for this piece is obviously The Fall and Pirates of the Caribbean, and the piece of music '[Parlay](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tzsqAjJnMdA)' from the Pirates of the Caribbean: At World's End Soundtrack. I strongly recommend listening to it while reading this :)
> 
> Enjoy! x

* * *

 

 

Legolas’ boots clinked as he strode purposefully down the creaky passageway. The metal bracing the heels made him feel in command; the noise they made unmistakable. He gripped the strap of leather across his chest tightly; the one that connected to the elaborate scabbard he wore. It sheathed his pride and joy; a large sabre that he had won in his first ever raid. The sentimentality of the piece belied its quality; it truly was a weapon fit for a prince. 

Legolas reached his destination quickly - a rather rickety door at the end of the gloomy corridor. The tavern was decrepit and salt –licked, a casualty of the harsh sea spray that floated in on the winds. The faint sounds of tinkling shanties and the crash and crack of glass filled the air around him; his crew were enjoying themselves while he took care of the business end of their trip. 

He would never have agreed to such a clandestine meeting, but he had been assured of the provenance of his rendezvous; the opportunity was too enticing to pass up. So now he stood, his eyes appraising the door that separated him from his mysterious meeting. Though he had gained assurances about the man who lay beyond, he placed his hand over the pistol that rested against his hip - no use in taking chances.

The last time he’d been reckless his whole world had changed, and he did not have a need to repeat the experience. It had been two years already, since the day he had run away to sea, and yet it felt as though it was just yesterday that he had been back on the mainland, raiding and riding and able to sleep through the night without aching for home.

Legolas had proven to be an exceptionally gifted pirate. It took him time to get his bearings and his sea legs but, once he had, he had risen through the ranks quickly. And now he had his own crew, his own ship, and he was the captain of his own destiny - _finally_. Though he had spent his entire life with his feet firmly on solid ground, he had a flair for leadership and inspired trust and confidence in those around him.

He had to grudgingly admit that it was his father who had given him those skills. All the years spent watching Thranduil rule as king over his hoard of bandits had instilled in Legolas the necessary abilities to lead. Thranduil ruled with absolute authority, his cool detachment and icy demeanour inspiring fear rather than love, but Legolas preferred a warmer approach. He was friendly with his subordinates, but kept enough distance to be effective. The frozen heart of his father had been one of the reasons he’d left his home, and he didn’t want to emulate the man that he so hated. 

His father had been so very callous in his treatment of his son, and Legolas had felt as though he had no choice but to leave. Thranduil never set foot off shore. Once, many years previously, his father had been on a ship that had been destroyed by the mighty power of a Kraken. He had vowed from that day to never be in water that ran deeper than his luxurious bath. The sea was an obvious choice for Legolas because of this phobia. The sea was the answer; it was the solution to how he could finally escape Thranduil’s influence. His father would never follow him to sea; the great King of Bandits would rather die than face the open water. 

Legolas’ eye twitched as he gave the door in front of him one last, suspicious glare. Thoughts of his father were not helpful, especially before such an important meeting. This negotiation could set him and his crew up for years to come; he could not afford to scupper this chance. The weight of the large brass buckle that hung against his breastbone pressed into Legolas’ skin as he stretched to push the door open. It creaked loudly; grating through the muted cackles and tunes that still permeated the air in the corridor. 

The gloom of the room was expected, but Legolas tightened his hand on the pistol at his side anyway. There was a small fire crackling in the grate in the corner of the room, but the space was devoid of any other light. Legolas blinked into the shadows – perhaps this had not been the best of ideas. 

“You’ve always been slower on the draw than I, Legolas. You have no hope of saving yourself should I wish to end your life.”

The voice that hung in the air sent Legolas’ blood running frigid. That deep, rich timbre, the gentle lilting tones of… 

Thranduil.

A flame was struck in the corner of the room, flashing briefly over the sharp cheekbones and white blonde hair of the main reclining there. Legolas drew his pistol, lifting the barrel to point directly at his father. The sound of amused chuckling floated about the room, and Thranduil lit the candle that stood on the table next to him.

“Come now, ‘Las, you wouldn’t shoot your own father.”

Legolas gulped and cocked his weapon, his lips set in a straight line. His mouth twitched at the edges, the traitorous muscle in his eye following suit. Thranduil merely laughed once more, rising from his prone position. Legolas followed his father with his gun, his eyes widening and his eyelashes fluttering. He must be dreaming; he had not seen his father in years, how could he possibly have found him?

“Put the gun down, Legolas,” Thranduil commanded, stepping closer to his son. Legolas’ eyes trailed over the familiar features of the man in front of him; he had not changed. He was still as handsome as ever, though perhaps he had a few more lines on his forehead. It gave Legolas great pleasure to think that he was the cause of such frown lines. Thranduil wore his usual luxurious attire. His arms were bare, his large muscles shown off for their beauty and strength. The cropped waistcoat he wore clasped at the front in meandering ties of spun gold. The rest of his wardrobe was black, as was characteristic of the bandit. He wore black billowing pants, held on with a black leather belt. His long boots matched the belt; soft and plaint and of the highest possible quality. His father’s eyes were rimmed in dark black coal, his white skin offset by the contrast. The flickering flames of the fire and the candle highlighted his immaculate bone structure, making him look even more otherworldly than he already did.

Legolas dropped his weapon gradually, lowering the barrel of his pistol with great trepidation. He didn’t know how Thranduil had reacted to his abandonment of his home, he didn’t know what his father wanted, he didn’t know how angry he still was; it seemed safer to keep the pistol close at hand. 

A dangerous grin worked its way across Thranduil’s face as is son lowered his weapon. He smirked, raising one heavy eyebrow, and turned to the small table that resided in the dilapidated room. A sumptuous flash of fabric had been draped across it, and a flagon of rum and two beakers rested on top of it. Thranduil set about pouring himself and Legolas a drink. Though he much preferred wine, rum was all he could get hold of in the godforsaken port town of Tortuga. He’d consumed all the wine he had brought with him to steady his nerves on the voyage to the tiny pirate-infested island.

Legolas watched his father intently, never dropping his guard. His eyes were glued to Thranduil’s hands as he poured them each a healthy portion of rum. His father held out one of the drink to him, a smirk still plastered across his face. Legolas paused for a moment, assessing the situation once more, before he gave in and accepted. He clasped the rum in one hand, the other still resting on the pistol in his waistband, and pressed it to his lips; taking a small sip. 

Thranduil did the same, their eyes boring in to one another; the air around them hung heavy with the weight of their silence and all the things that they were thinking. Legolas broke it first, raising the edges of his lips in a half sneer as he said, “Cheap rum? I would have thought you’d have brought your own wine?”

Thranduil raised his eyebrow once more, narrowing his eyes at his son, “I did, but the journey to this place taxed me more than I thought it would.”

“I cannot believe that you set foot on a ship,” Legolas said, now sipping more easily at the rum. It helped his nerves; the nerves that were still worryingly on edge. 

Thranduil chuckled softly, taking a swig of the smooth brown liquid in his beaker, before he became suddenly serious. “I deemed this meeting of greater importance than my fears,” Thranduil said. Though his voice was measured and steady, his words rang in Legolas’ ears as if he had shouted them. Never had he heard such words pass his father’s lips. Nothing had ever been more important than his father’s insistence that only land-based activities were to be undertaken.

Legolas pushed his incredulity from his mind and instead focused on the question that demanded an answer, “How did you find me?” 

Thranduil looked away for a moment, moving past the table to circle his son, a predatory look in his eyes. 

“You should take better care of who you allow to join your crew, iôn-nín, it was all too easy to implant a spy on your vessel,” the words drawled from Thranduil’s lips, as if it was his proudest accomplishment to deceive his son in such a way.

Legolas’ jaw twitched as he bit his teeth together; his father’s pet name for him unsettling him. No; not one of his crew. They had all been hand-picked; he couldn’t imagine one of them betraying him to his father. 

“You’re lying. You’re only trying to sow discord between me and my crew,” a defiant fire blazed in Legolas’ eyes as he said the words, though he didn’t quite believe them. 

Thranduil merely cocked an eyebrow at his son and tilted his head. His silence would have a greater effect than any of his words ever could. When his father did not speak, Legolas sighed and shut his eyes for a beat. When he opened them again, they were filled with thinly veiled disdain.

“What do you want from me, Adar?”

Thranduil fixed his son with a solemn stare then, his brow furrowing, “I want you to come home.”

Legolas did not restrain himself when the urge to roll his eyes overcame him. It was childish and silly, but appropriate for expressing how he felt.

“There is nothing in this world that I would loath more than to return to Mirkwood,” Legolas sneered.

“Gods, Legolas!” Thranduil exclaimed, anger getting a hold of him, “Enough now! You’ve had your little rebellion, running away from your people and your home, but now it’s time to return and do your duty!”

Legolas burned. He burned hot with anger and betrayal and deeply buried emotions. His face flushed; the tips of his cheekbones and the points of his ears growing red in rage. He shook, the hand that was resting on his pistol clenching the cold metal. 

“I have not returned these two years for a reason, Adar, and I will not be told what to do. I am not a child any longer and you have no authority to decide my fate.” Legolas’ voice was measured, though it quivered slightly; affected by the undercurrent of fury that he was supressing. 

“If you are no longer a child, then perhaps you should stop acting as though you still are one? A spoilt one at that.”

“And whose fault is that?”

Thranduil’s eyes flared, his anger riled; “Legolas!”

It always ended this way, any conversation they had. It had been one of the many, many reasons that Legolas had run away. Their fights always descended into insult hurling and outraged exclamations, and Legolas would stand for it no longer; not when it wounded him so deeply. 

“I will never return home, Adar, and I would very much like to never see you again. So, if that is all, I’ll take my leave.” Legolas made to turn; he did not have to endure his father anymore. He had been doing a fine job of making his own way, with no help from him; why would he ever think that he would return?

“Don’t you dare walk away from me!” The command was accompanied by the clicks of his father cocking both of his ornate weapons. Legolas froze. His father was an excellent shot, the best he had ever seen, and he would not miss should he choose to fire. Legolas turned unhurriedly, drawing out the tension between them. When his eyes met his father’s again, Thranduil was standing a little closer; both his arms outstretched and holding the pistols. They were both pointed directly to Legolas’ heart and Thranduil had a dangerous sneer set into his mouth.

Legolas merely stared at his father, his eyes glazing over in resigned sadness. Would his father really force him to return home under threat of death? Is that what their relationship had come to? It was not what he wanted; it had never been what he’d wanted.

Thranduil swallowed hard, his eyes blinking rapidly, as he seemed to come to his senses. He lowered his weapons cautiously, holstering them with care. His eyes slipped from Legolas’, a flicker of shame flaring up before it was quashed. He reached for his rum once more, taking a tentative sip. Legolas stood in stony silence, waiting.

“Legolas, you are my son; you are heir to the enterprise that I have created in Mirkwood. I would have you return and take your rightful place alongside me.” Thranduil did not meet Legolas’ eyes once.

“I do not wish to be your heir any longer,” Legolas said quietly. His words were soft, but they cut through the air and wounded Thranduil more than any weapon could.

“Legolas-” Thranduil began, his face crinkling in exasperation.

“I left Mirkwood because you still treated me as a child, Adar. You never allowed me to lead raids, I was only allowed to take part in missions that you deemed safe enough for me, and I was never once allowed to contribute any ideas to the running of the horde. I received little to no respect from anyone; most thinking that I was your precious lapdog who could not take care of myself, with only a few maintaining that I was scared and didn’t participate because of it.” Legolas felt anger rise within him once more and he worked himself up until he was just short of shouting at his father. “I have done brilliantly on my own; I have a ship and a crew and respect from those I command. I am excellent with my weapons, both pistol and sabre, and I don’t need to run back to my father for anything!” Legolas took great, heaving breaths, his anger raging through his veins. 

Thranduil watched his son as he tried to control himself, momentarily lost for words. “Legolas-” he tried, when he had regained his composure.

“No, no! After all of these things, the worst was when you forbade me to choose my own bride - though I had never even thought of marriage, you insisted that you should pick a suitable woman for me. No, you didn’t insist, you plainly told me that you would.” Legolas had begun to pace forward, nearing his father as he spat the words he’d been holding in for most of his life. “You didn’t once take into account my feelings, nor my… my… _preferences_ … when you made such a decision. You just expected me to agree, to acquiesce to you wishes as usual… but that was the final straw, Adar. I could not… I could never have agreed to that, and I never will.”

Legolas left out the fact that he already had an object of his affection. He conveniently forgot to mention the festering desire that had plagued him for years. Running away had been his only option when confronted by the idea that he would have to marry someone other than the person he was in love with. Running away had saved him from his depravity. 

Thranduil blinked once, twice, at his son. Legolas had never been so forceful in all of his life. Thranduil had never heard such clear, strong words from his son. It made him equal parts proud and livid. 

“You may be the King of Bandits, Adar, but you will never command my heart.” Legolas’ words rang true and clear into the space between them. Though they were spoken softly, they held a heavy sadness that Thranduil had never seen in his son before. A strange expression passed over Legolas’ eyes, falling across his face like a frigid shadow.

Thranduil had missed his son. Though the proud king would never admit it, he had longed for Legolas. When he had disappeared one night, into a raging storm that had torn through their forest home, Thranduil had feared the worst. He had searched for days for his precious leaf, every passing hour seeing Thranduil become more inconsolable. But then he had heard whisperings; whisperings of someone who looked remarkably like his son running off to join a pirate crew. And then it was so much worse; his son had _abandoned_ him. He had searched for months for Legolas, sending out many an envoy to find him, all the while his clawing loneliness eating away at him. When he was finally able to procure a meeting with his son, his sadness had been with him for years. He could not allow for it to continue.

“You will return home with me, Legolas. You will do your duty,” Thranduil said, taking a careful step towards his fuming son. They were now just a small distance apart, and Thranduil could make out that his son wore a tiny golden earing in the lobe of one of his pointy ears. 

“I despise you,” Legolas spat in unabashed hatred, his nostrils flaring out as his breath caused Thranduil’s long hair to flutter. Something snapped in Thranduil’s mind then, and his eyes darkened dangerously. 

Legolas went rigid when his father’s hand flashed out, his ornate rings catching the light, and grabbed him around his neck. He blanched, his fingers immediately clutching at where he was being held. Thranduil squeezed down, his face contorting into a grimace as he moved even closer to his son. His laboured breaths swirled out over Legolas’ face, the puffs of furious air causing the wisps of his blonde hair to shudder.

Legolas made no sound as his father steadily applied pressure to his windpipe, but he scrabbled furiously at the hand that was restraining him. The rings that decorated Thranduil’s fingers were cold and unfeeling as they dug mercilessly into Legolas’ skin. Though he was capable and strong, he was no match for his father. Thranduil’s arm shuddered and his jaw twitched, his eyes blazing with a furious anger… and something else that was barely concealed any more. It was when Legolas gasped, his lips turning a faint blue, that Thranduil came to his senses.

Thranduil immediately relinquished his grip on his son’s throat, his eyes widening in shock at his own actions. He had never laid a hand on his son in all his life - until now. Legolas gulped in a huge lungful of air and shoved his father’s slack hand from his throat. He massaged his bruised flesh, his eyes burning with hatred as he glared up at Thranduil.

He opened his mouth to spew more hatred, to tell his father exactly what he thought of him. But then Thranduil’s lips were covering his, and he couldn’t breathe once more. 

Thranduil was acting on pure instinct and he grabbed Legolas about the throat once again. This time his hands were gentle, loving even, and he ran them up his son’s face and buried them into his soft blonde hair. He pulled Legolas’ mouth against his, hard and unforgiving, their lips melding into one. Thranduil’s heart roared in approval at having Legolas’ lips on his, and when he parted them with his tongue the beast in his chest growled in victory.

Legolas tasted of the rum they had shared, and of spices and tobacco and something indescribable that Thranduil quickly became addicted to. He shoved his son backwards harshly, only releasing his lips to press him up against the solid wooden wall of the room. He was devouring him again in seconds, not daring to examine his son’s expression; he needed this more than anything – he needed him.

But Legolas was not fighting him off. He was not kicking and scratching and biting his father - as Thranduil had feared he might. No - he was not even in shock, not merely surrendering to his father’s strength. No - Legolas was… oh gods - he was kissing him back. Legolas’ tongue curled out into Thranduil’s mouth, duelling with his father’s for all he was worth. And then… oh, he was moaning. He was moaning straight into the clashing of their mouths. He was tugging at Thranduil’s hair, his waistcoat, and his breeches; trying to pull him closer.

Thranduil obliged, pressing himself against his son’s eager body, forcing him to splay out against the wall. Legolas groaned and nipped at his father’s bottom lip, drawing the tiniest bead of blood into the kiss that they shared.

“Ada,” Legolas gasped out into their kiss, and Thranduil’s stomach dropped and churned at the term of endearment said in such a filthy tone. Legolas’ voice was pure sex. “I love you,” Legolas moaned, “I - oh gods yes - I love you, I love you, I love you.” He was mumbling incoherently, his feelings spilling forth and unable to be restrained after so long a time repressed. 

Thranduil froze for a beat, and then pulled back. Legolas’ azure eyes bore into his own - and then it all made sense to the King of Bandits. This is what Legolas had been running away from, just as he himself had been. It wasn’t the number of raids Legolas was allowed to lead or the amount of respect he received, nor was it Legolas’ anger at Thranduil trying to control who he married. No, it was this. It was this thing between them that he had been running from.

The prince was in love with his king. How could he not have seen it?

Legolas’ blinked and his eyes pleaded up at his father. Maybe he should have said nothing? Now he’d ruined it with his talk of love and his soppy confessions. He finally had his father where he had always wanted him, between his thighs, and he had ruined it. 

But then Thranduil was kissing him again; only this time it was unlike their previous embrace. His father was soft and gentle and he clutched at Legolas’ cheeks with an uncharacteristic neediness. 

“Gods, ‘Las, I love you,” Thranduil breathed into their sweet kiss, their lips sliding over one another’s, “I have missed you so very much.”

Legolas gasped and laughed and kissed Thranduil hard. It was what he had wanted to hear for so long; it was almost unbelievable. But then Thranduil was pressing against him once more, his strong body pinning Legolas, and he had never felt more real. Legolas gripped onto his father’s bare arms, running his hands up and over the alabaster skin that stretched over his toned biceps. Oh, how he’d fantasied about those beautiful arms surrounding him – and now they were.

Thranduil’s hard cock brushed against his own then, causing Legolas’ mind to shift away from thoughts of his father’s arms. All he could think about was touching Thranduil; he wanted to touch him everywhere. He wanted all of his father’s skin, laid bare on top of him, pressed against him, _inside_ of him. He needed it so very desperately. 

Legolas growled deep in the back of his throat, the sound vibrating through the places that his was joined to his father. Thranduil answered with a heady moan, nipping at Legolas’ bottom lip with his white teeth. Legolas began fumbling with his father’s clothes; his hand slipping down Thranduil’s broad shoulders to tangle in the intricate gold filigree ties at the front of his waistcoat. The brocade was finicky and incredibly difficult to undo, and Legolas’ shaking hands did not help matters. He fumbled and tugged, trying to keep up with the ravenous kisses that his father was lavishing him with.

The prince was distracted by Thranduil’s flavour - pungent and sweet with rum, punctuated by hints of saffron and tobacco. He tasted as he had in all of Legolas’ many fantasies; he tasted of desire and shame and pleasure and desperate need. He brought all of his son’s fantasies to life, and then surpassed them.

Eventually Thranduil intervened with Legolas’ desperate fumbling and worked the ties of his waistcoat open himself. Legolas gulped when his hands touched the expanse of pale skin that stretched over Thranduil’s chest for the first time. Though his father was an experienced and ruthless bandit, who had led many a rough mission, his skin was silky soft and unmarred by scars or blemishes. Legolas canted forwards as Thranduil shrugged out of the luxurious waistcoat, closing his mouth and teeth around the flesh of Thranduil’s breast. 

The king gasped and dug his immaculately kept nails in to Legolas’ arms, through his worn coat and undershirt. Legolas bit down harder, leaving deep indentations in his father’s pristine skin; he was marking him, claiming him as his own. Thranduil’s eyes filled with fire at the pain that his son inflicted onto his body and he was quick to return the favour. 

Thranduil did not bother with ties or buttons or seams. He pulled Legolas’ coat off of his shoulders before he ripped in to his undershirt, tearing the thin fabric down the front. Legolas was pulled from his father’s skin as Thranduil divested of him of his clothing, the sheer force of his movements causing Legolas to stumble backwards; flattening against the rough wooden wall once more.

Thranduil was against Legolas immediately, swiping at his belt and gun holster. Legolas did the same, tugging at the leather around Thranduil’s slim hips until it fell away. Both of their weapons clattered to the floor with dull thuds, superfluous to their current needs. They needed skin on skin, teeth on skin; anything that brought them together. Legolas shuddered when Thranduil’s hand snaked up his body, wrapping around his neck once more. This time, the press of Thranduil’s fist around his windpipe only gave him pleasure. His father swallowed his guttural moans, scraping his free hand across one of Legolas’ hypersensitive nipples.

The prince bucked into his father, grinding their pounding erections together along with the bare skin of their chests. Angry red marks appeared all over Legolas’ torso, evidence of Thranduil’s scratching and rough treatment. Yet he did not feel any pain, nor did he even notice the marks; he was too caught up in the heat of the body that was pressed against him.

“Ada,” Legolas gasped when they both found themselves fumbling with the ties on their breeches. Thranduil had lost all sense of cool confidence and had begun to tremble in anticipation - his hands just as clumsy as his son’s. Legolas ached for his father, and he growled in annoyance when his fingers would not co-operate with his wishes. After a long few moments of scrabbling, Thranduil eventually lost his patience. 

He gripped Legolas around the back of the neck, pulling him forwards as he stumbled backwards. His son followed without hesitation, his lips searching out for Thranduil’s as they crashed into the only table in the room. The flickering candle that lay upon it wobbled precariously, but righted itself before it fell over. Legolas squeaked in surprise when Thranduil spun them, lifted him to sit upon the cold scratchy wood of the table.

Legolas had to look down at a shallow angle to meet Thranduil’s eyes as he hovered above him. Thranduil’s gaze was dark, his passion-hazed mind reflected in them. The angle was easier then, and Thranduil made quick work of loosening Legolas’ breeches and tugging them, along with the prince’s boots, off of him.

Legolas watched in trembling anticipation as Thranduil began to work on his own pants, his eyes never leaving his son’s beautiful body. Legolas was hard and ready for his father, his cock red and needy against his stomach. He was flushed, from the tips of his ears to the points of his toes, and he didn’t think he could stand any more waiting or teasing. He was afraid that he would come undone solely by the depraved expression that was stamped across Thranduil’s face. His father wanted him, he wanted him so very badly, and Legolas wondered absently how long Thranduil had felt the same as he did. 

Had Thranduil fantasised about him when he was still living in Mirkwood? Did he sit on his antlered throne and daydream about his son? Did he have wicked, wicked fantasies of what he would do to him given the chance? Had he also taken longer-than-necessary baths, imagining the way his son would touch him and writhe over him, riding his cock until they both achieved blissful release? Legolas longed to know the answer to such questions, but was absolutely preoccupied with the way Thranduil’s large cock bobbed when it was freed from the material that constrained it. His father was beautiful, in every way. Every part of him was strong and gorgeous and Legolas longed to _touch_. And then the prince realised he _could_ touch. 

Legolas wasted little time then, reaching for his father. His heavy cock fit perfectly into his roughened palm and he gave an experimental pump that had Thranduil moaning and thrusting against him. Thrilled desire raced through Legolas’ veins, his blood roaring in his ears as he felt his father’s velvety cock jump and twitch in pleasure; a pleasure he had elicited. It was addictive to have such power over his stoic, authoritative father. It was a wondrous dream, a beautiful hallucination; it had to be. He could not actually be getting what he had always wanted.

But then Thranduil’s fingers were sliding over him, exploring the cleft between his cheeks, and the reality of their situation blared to life in front of Legolas’ eyes. His colour brightened, his vision sharpened, and when Thranduil slipped his forefinger into his clenching body, his brain stuttered and blanked out. 

Thranduil’s red lips parted when his finger was surrounded by his son’s tight heat for the first time. His stomach dropped and twisted and his cock jumped in approval. He held onto his self-control with a tenuous grasp, his willpower slipping. He wanted to claim his perfect son, to thrust up into his tight body and mark him as his own; but he also wanted to show him how much he had missed him, how much he loved him. The battle of emotions raged in Thranduil’s head and heart, tearing at his conscience and his sense of morality. Yet he knew he would probably perish should he not have Legolas. He had been so very desolate without him; he could not go back.

Legolas whimpered when Thranduil slipped his finger from his body. He looked into his father’s eyes, spreading his strong legs wider and pulling the king more snugly in between them. Thranduil ground his teeth together, clinging on to his self-control. Legolas watched with trembling anticipation as Thranduil slicked up his fingers, wetting them by stretching his own lips around them. And then he was back at Legolas’ delicate entrance, circling and stroking and preparing Legolas as gently as he possibly could with such shaky fingers. But it was not what the prince wanted; he wanted to be claimed and to claim in return.

Legolas slipped his hands against the back of his father’s neck without preamble, and pulled Thranduil down on top of him, reclining back onto the table. In his passionate haste, he jostled the candle that stood flickering next to their entwined bodies. It fell to the floor with a clatter, extinguishing its light. The two gasping men when left in semi darkness, the fire in the corner now mere embers. Thranduil’s eyes burned through the darkness, glittering as he ravaged Legolas. 

Legolas did not remember Thranduil slicking himself up, nor did he quite register anything before he felt the first press of his father’s large cock against him. The stretch burned at first, and he grappled for Thranduil’s shoulders, digging his unkempt nails into the skin of his father’s back. Thranduil hissed and thrust forward, sheathing himself further into Legolas. The prince whimpered, his legs quivering around Thranduil’s waist. Though he was no innocent, Legolas had never been taken before. The sensation of his father’s cock sliding into him took a few moments to adjust to; a few moments where Legolas clung to his father, burying his face into Thranduil’s chest and taking huge, heaving gulps of warm air. 

Thranduil stilled when he had filled Legolas with as much cock as he had to give, and he soaked in the conflicting emotions that raged in his chest. His small reverie was broken when Legolas rolled his hips, gasping into the moist skin of his sweaty neck. But then Thranduil was thrusting, his hips timid at first, but quickly finding a rhythm. 

Legolas mewled, high and breathy, and he opened his mouth to latch on to the skin at Thranduil’s neck; his face buried in the hair that clung around Thranduil’s shoulders. Legolas sucked hard, intermittently laving over the abused skin with his tongue, before suckling harshly again. It inflamed Thranduil’s raging need to claim his son, and soon he was thrusting into Legolas’ clenching body without mercy. 

It burned. It ached. But Legolas only cried out for more. He urged his father on, gripping on to the king’s tight ass and pulling him further into himself when Thranduil thrust forwards. It was blissful pain swirling through agonising pleasure; and Legolas finally… _finally_ felt complete.

That was until Thranduil wrapped a clammy hand around his son’s arousal and began to pump him roughly, never slowing or stilling. Then Legolas truly found completeness. Pleasure sung through his veins, adrenaline pounded in his blood, and the pain of being breached by his father’s large cock dissipated – leaving only want and need. The prince sucked his father’s skin into his mouth harshly, biting down when Thranduil gave a particularly violent thrust.

Thranduil was keening then, crying out straight into Legolas’ ear as he came deep inside of his son; the pain lancing through the self-control he held on to. Legolas’ hips stuttered and faltered; the heat of his father’s release pooling inside of him and urging on his own climax. He spurted all over his father’s hand, his own stomach, and Thranduil’s glistening chest; his release tearing through his body and leaving him a sated wreck writhing under his shivering father.

The blissful afterglow was glorious and Legolas felt only stillness and calm; his heart finally content. Thranduil experienced a similar feeling of contentedness, permeated with lingering jolts of pleasure from where he and his son were still joined. Legolas whimpered quietly as he was dragged back into the waking world, his vision clearing and his mind returning to its former state. It all seemed too good to be true; his father spent and panting above him with his cock still buried to the hilt in his tender body.

“Ada,” Legolas croaked, his voice misshapen by the passion that still burned in his veins, “Ada… oh gods, that was-”

Thranduil silenced him with a sweet kiss – so very different from the depraved devouring that they had been engaging in just minutes before. Thranduil’s lips tasted of sweat and sweet rum, and he kissed Legolas with all the love that he had kept hidden in his heart. He poured it out for his son to see, he couldn’t hide from Legolas any more; he couldn’t deny what existed between them. 

Their lips left each other’s with a soft pop as they both gasped for air, their hearts still hammering away against the inside of their ribcages.

“ ‘Las,” Thranduil managed, his voice cracking, “You’ll come home with me? Won’t you? Please… I… I can’t face life without you.” He had to know; he had to be sure that his son would be with him always. He couldn’t bear one more night without him. 

Legolas blinked; was his father begging? Thranduil had never begged for anything in his entire life. It filled Legolas with something akin to pride that he could elicit such a thing from the proud king, but it also made his heart clench in sorrow. He didn’t want to give up his life; the life he’d worked so hard for. But how could he be parted from his father after this? After they had bared themselves and admitted that there was more between them than simple platonic love?

“I will not,” Legolas breathed, his words punctuated by heavy breathing. A horrific flicker of despair passed over Thranduil’s face, but it was quickly mitigated by Legolas’ next words. “Though I have a compromise.”

Thranduil merely cocked a thick eyebrow, still panting.

“You have long wanted control of the bay that borders Mirkwood forest. I propose that I should be Admiral of a fleet based there; defending and occasionally raiding along the shores.” Legolas had always intended on returning home at some point, at a time far in the future. He knew that he could never stay away from the pull of his father for long. 

Thranduil’s brow furrowed as he took in his son’s words.

“I will fly your colours on my ship, of course, and we’ll never be very far away from one another…” Legolas trailed off, running a hand up Thranduil’s neck and burying it in his damp hair. He tugged his father down, allowing their lips to meet in a tender kiss, “... and I can visit you at the stronghold, and you can inspect your new navy…” Legolas mumbled against Thranduil’s lips, kissing him deeply, “… and perhaps visit with the Admiral of your forces at sea…” Legolas licked over Thranduil’s lips and the king moaned, his hips twitching against Legolas’, “… and make certain that his sleeping quarters are up to par.” Legolas smirked against his father’s needy lips.

Thranduil growled and rolled his hips against Legolas, thrusting his semi-hard cock deeper inside his spent body. Legolas gasped and clutched on to his king; his body was tender and tired, yet he yearned to be taken again. 

“I think we have reached an acceptable resolution to our parley,” Thranduil growled, a smile tugging at his lips, “To celebrate I would have you again, Admiral.”

**Author's Note:**

> **Thanks for reading! Much appreciated!**
> 
> I really have fallen in love with this iteration of these two characters. If anyone has any ideas for a sequel, let me know! I'm always up for tossing some plot lines around <3
> 
> **More of my art can be found at[plotbunniesincolour](http://plotbunniesincolour.tumblr.com/)**
> 
> Come say hello! <3


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